We Owe Eachother This Silence
by XDarklySkyX
Summary: After Reichenbach Fall Sherlock BBC. Sherlock is closer than John thinks, John tries to cling to a little hope. But when someone is trying to take John for themselves, is Sherlock able to stay in the dark? Chapter 2 is up! Rated M later chapters
1. Chapter 1 Hurting

_**Plot: Takes place after Reichenbach Falls (Sherlock BBC). Sherlock is closer than John thinks, John tries to cling to a little hope. But when someone is trying to take John for themselves, is Sherlock able to stay in the dark? It may be someone Sherlock knows, and it might be someone who already put John's life on the line. MIGHT BE A LITTLE OOC, Angst, Romance, and much more.**_

_**Pairings: Irene X Sherlock, Moriarty x John, Sherlock x John [In later chapters]**_

_**Note: My first story, I posted this on Tumblr just yesterday ( 02/20/12 ) and everyone pretty much cried xD (Hands a box of tissues) ENJOY **_

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><p>"So you really are dead…" John's voice cracked, raising a shaking hand roughly through his hair. He was back at the flat, just a few days after witnessing his best friend's death. He sat down with his suitcase, already having packed his belongings ahead of time, telling Mrs. Hudson that he can no longer stay in the flat, which she understood completely. But he promised to spend the night here and to visit every once in a while.<p>

John glanced over at the seat that Sherlock would sit in thinking hard over a case that was requested by his clients, or just having a chat with John, drinking tea, everything he did was somehow related to that chair in anyway possible. "Everything here reminds me of him. Hard to believe that he just…so quickly…" He couldn't say the words. He couldn't come to believe his best friend just left his life in only a matter of minutes. But as it was happening, it seemed to last forever. The scene burned itself into the back of his eyes, Sherlock standing on the roof of the building, the 'confession' from Sherlock that painfully sunk itself into his heart, the hand reaching out towards him, the cry from Sherlock for John to keep his eyes fixed on him, how could he not? All he ever saw was Sherlock. The words that were spoken is what caused his heart to swell with pain and anger, almost crushing his ribs, 'Goodbye John', the heart-wrenching cry out towards his friend, the fall, the blood, the sorrow words that ghosted past his mouth, was he even speaking? He couldn't remember, because the only thing he remembered was Sherlock's unbeating pulse..**.** John took a deep breath and exhaled, forcefully shoving the memory into the back of his mind, but no matter how much he tried to will it away, it would hit him ten-fold later on.

John took another deep breath and exhaled. Someone knocked from the open door, John glanced over his shoulder. Drenched from head to toe in black clothing, was Mrs. Hudson. John knew it was time already. "John, the cab is here." She said blankly. Mrs. Hudson has lost the happy chirp to her voice, although Sherlock stressed her about the bullets in her walls, body parts in the fridge, the mess of the entire flat. John smiled, but only for a second, until he focused his eyes back on Mrs. Hudson.

"Alright." He replied. Mrs. Hudson started to descend down the stairs, as John closed his suitcase and got up. He followed after Mrs. Hudson, not before making sure he was presentable for his best friend's funeral. _Funeral, silly things they are. Who would want to celebrate someone's death? John don't be silly, I am not dead_. Sherlock's voice echoed throughout his head. He froze, just about to open the cab door. "John, are you alright?" Mrs. Hudson questioned from inside the cab.

'_No, I am not okay. I am going to mourn for the loss of my best friend, who I had to watch die. As you can see, I am FAR from okay. I am alone and lost. Just how I was before I met 'Him''_. Oh, how he just wished to say that, but he realized Sherlock's death affected everyone around him. "Yes, I was just remembering something important." He replied, his voice laced with lies. Mrs. Hudson could see lost look in her soldier's eyes as it just radiated from him. He had a haunted look in his eyes and it leaked from his eyes onto his face, he also looked paler. He even limped from time to time.

The ride to the graveyard was painfully slow. Mrs. Hudson tried to make talk along the way. That surprisingly, helped John, even if it was a teensy bit. "I really am going to miss you boys."

Silence.

"That probably wasn't my best choice of words, but I will remember all the good times. Remember the Christmas photo I took of you and Sherlock? You guys were so adorable, he even wore the antlers!"

Silence.

"Just remember the good times John, knock the pain away." She sounded desperate, but not because of the funeral, but because of John. He was shaking. He wanted to tell Mrs. Hudson to shut it, but couldn't form any nicer words. Anything else about Sherlock, and he would snap.

"Seeing you boys smile, hearing you boys laugh and have a great time, I am going to miss the noise. All it will be is silen—"

"MRS. HUDSON. WILL YOU SHUT UP!" John yelled at her, "IT IS NOT HELPING. YOU ARE NOT THE ONE WHO HAD TO WATCH HIM DIE, TO HEAR HIS LAST WORDS, TO SEE HIS DEAD CORPSE. YOU THINK IT'S AS EASY AS JUST PUSHING ALL OVER THAT AWAY? IT KEEPS ME UP AT NIGHT; IT'S WORSENING EVERY MINUTE OF MY LIFE!" It was getting harder and harder to breathe; his eyes teared up, he stared at Mrs. Hudson's shocked face. "I'm sorry." She said, and looked out her window. "I am as well; I didn't mean to lash out on you, Mrs. Hudson. Don't blame yourself for trying to cheer me up, and don't force yourself to be happy." He said, adding a small smile. She turned to look at him, and smiled softly in return. "It's alright, John."

The cab stopped, Mrs. Hudson paid the cab driver and got out of the car. John said thanks and followed after her. He then was about to turn around to tip the cabbie. He froze his movements. Something about the Cabbie looked familiar, but he only got a look at the cabbie for a split second before the cabbie booked it and sped off. John only saw that man for a split second, as the cabbie booked it. He stood there, unmoving, until Mrs. Hudson grabbed him by the elbow, tugging him softly towards the grave. She finally got him moving and led him along, assuming he was dreading to go.

The funeral was long, painful, and drowned with sobs from people all over. John just stared at the casket. Trying to see through it, half of him was hoping it would open and Sherlock would pop out, healthy and living.

As the funeral was closing, people said their goodbyes towards Sherlock and wished the best of luck towards John and Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft was there, he spoke to John for a bit, before bidding his farewell. "It's strange on how people are broken from someone's death, and yet, they still go to their last ceremony of their lifetime. John, he is not as what you think he is." John could see the look of panic and rushed look in Mycroft's eyes. But said goodbye anyways and parted their ways.

Mrs. Hudson and John stood at his grave. John looked at the name written in white over the black marble. Mrs. Hudson started to cry and dab at her eyes with a handkerchief that was provided by Mycroft. "You were like a son I never had, and I treated you like one…" Mrs. Hudson went on and on until she patted John's shoulder and walked away sobbing, bidding her farewells and saying something about preparing dinner, most likely the last one they will ever have together.

John looked behind his shoulder, making sure no one was around.

Okay, time to say it.

"You told me once…that you are the hero. Um, there were times I didn't even think you were human. But, let me tell you this. You were…the best man…the most human..**. **Human being; that I have ever known. And no one will ever convince me that you told a lie. So…" John walked over towards the tombstone, touched the tip of it with his fingers. "I was…so alone. And I owe you so much..." He stated. He turned around and started to head back, but turned around on his heel and looked back at the grave. "One more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock…for me. Don't. Be…Dead. Would you do that," He was breathing hard at this point "Just for me, just stop it, stop this." He gestured towards where Sherlock lied under the ground. John's eyes started to tear up, he brought a hand up to catch any tears that would fall. '_Pull yourself together soldier, be brave, and be strong. Be…Sherlock.'_ John looked up, emotions struggling to present themselves; he nodded towards his inner voice. He then turned, and left; limping.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting in the cab; John got in. He felt refreshed, but not happy. Mrs. Hudson excused herself to take a nap on the way home. The sun was setting, John stared outside of the window, seeing Sherlock's eyes stare back. He looked away and rested his head on the window, letting sleep consume him.

Mrs. Hudson woke John up, saying that they were at the flat, John's last night here. For a while .John paid the cabbie, got out of the cab, and started to drag up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson took his arm and up to the flat to lie down. She set him up on the couch, taking off his jacket and his shoes, and wished him a good night.

_**"That was the most ridiculous thing that I have ever done" I said, breathless. "And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock replied. I giggled while he chuckled, I felt warm inside. **_

_**"Shame on you, John! Mrs. Hudson should leave, London would fall!" Sherlock patted her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson looked up and patted his hand with her own, laughing. I smiled. We seemed quite like a family.**_

_**"Joining me?" He asked, as I was shoved into the police car side, huffing. The officers handcuffed my right hand to his left hand. "Yeah, apparently punching the superintendent in the nose is against the law." I heard him huff in approval. "We are going to be doing a more daring escape..." He said as he reached forward and turned up the radio on the dashboard, causing a screech of noise to blast into the officer's ears, letting us go. He grabbed for one of the officers guns and pointed it at everyone, telling them to get down. When they didn't obey, he fired 2 shots into the air. They obeyed reluctantly. Of course I had to be the hostage. "What are we going to do now?" I asked as we were backing up from the scene, the gun pointing towards my head. "Doing what Moriarty wants, become criminals." He then started to run, dragging me along. "Grab my hand!" He yelled, wrapping the chain around his wrist and took my hand. "Now people are definitely going to talk!" I said, feeling the rush of adrenaline wash through me. **_

"_**Are you wearing any pants?" I asked "No." He said blankly. "Okay." I replied awkwardly; looking away. I sneaked a glance back at him, to find him looking at me. We started to laugh; there was a warm mushy feeling to the atmosphere. "I am seriously fighting the impulse to steal an ashtray." I said, giggling. Sherlock also giggled. "What are we doing here, Sherlock, No seriously, what?" I said, laughing between my words. "Hmm. I don't know." He said. "Here to see the Queen?" I joked. "Oh. Apparently yes." He stated. I looked towards his direction to see Mycroft, his older brother, just walking in. We burst out laughing. "Just once, can you two behave like grown-ups?" He said, disappointed. **__**"We solve crimes, I blog about it, and he forgets his pants. So I wouldn't hold onto too much hope." I replied; smirking.**_

_**"What?" I asked, we were in the cab, leaving Buckingham Palace. He then pulls out an ashtray they he took from Buckingham Palace.**_

_**Time seemed to freeze, the cab driver I saw was a man with dark brown curls, a cabbie hat tipped down in the front so I could not see his eyes or face, his skin was milky white, and he held a frown on his face.**_

_**He slowly tilted his head towards my direction, his hand reached beside him as he shifted the knob from parked, to drive. Slammed on the accelerator, and sped off.**_

_Sherlock!_

I awoke, face soaked in sweat. I got up in alert, checking my surroundings. It was last at night, and I was in the flat. I remembered that I was alone. This is how it would be from now one, alone. My vision blurred and something wet rolled down my face. Tears. I couldn't hold them back, and my body felt too heavy with guilt and anguish to wake them away with my arms. So I lied back down, letting the tears take their toll on me. The distant sound of a violin playing made the tears come down faster. I was soon sobbing and rolled over, back facing the flat, and my face in the cushion.

He was gone, and there was no way to get him back. I let my eyes close, letting sleep once again, drown me in its relief.

_**I am alone.**_

Outside, the cab still parked outside off 221B, a man of dark brown curls, slim figure, milky white skin, and cheek bones that could cut you, slouched on the roof of his cabbie. A female figure stood next to him. "He is falling apart." She stated dully. "It appears so. But I trusted his health and well-being towards my brother. He is going to be fine." The man replied. "The question is, for how long?" She read from her phone. The man didn't reply, instead he picked up his violin and played it once more for the sobbing man inside the flat. John. "He will be fine, I will be back. Everything will be okay, Irene." The man said while playing. "Sherlock, it's not easy to forget someone you love. You made his life a happy one, and now you are making it a miserable one." Irene said darkly. "And vice versa." Sherlock replied, Irene looked up at him, shocked. Sherlock just closed his eyes and smiled. _John._

_And the man continued to play a soft melody for the only one person who is always on his mind, even when he worked, for the only person who taught him how to interact with others, to the only person who made him kinder. He owes this person so much, and yet, he is forced to hurt him more than ever._

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><p><strong><em>TBC<em>**

**_Review for more _**


	2. Chapter 2 Emily

Irene ran a hand through Sherlock's dark curls, in a comforting gesture; but Sherlock knew there was something more than that. He continued to weep into the cushions, when was the last time he ever cried? He couldn't remember a day where he felt like this, since he didn't let himself get emotionally attached. Irene kept whispering words like 'There, there.' And 'He will be fine, just got to figure out when it's too late, and too early.' To Sherlock, she was only seen as a motherly figure at the moment, his own mother never comforted him, never showed any attention to him. Mycroft filled that emptiness, until that day where it all got jumbled up. After now, after faking his death; he looks back at everything, feeling guilty for all the people he has hurt, feeling regretful for not caring enough. He may as well be actually dead.

"John…" Sherlock whispered the name to himself, he felt as if that one word was his life line.

At the flat, John was saying his goodbyes to Mrs. Hudson. A part of John felt guilty for leaving Mrs. Hudson all alone. He knew she would be lonely, but he was even lonelier. He bid her a fare-well and promised to be back in a month. Picking up his suitcase and giving Mrs. Hudson a kiss on the cheek, he left 221B in hopes of leaving behind his past life.

John dropped his suitcase and stood there, gathering his thoughts. Who would want to forget their life with a brilliant man? Who is insane enough to even think of it? John would give anything to have that life back. He would give up his whole existence just to have another day, another case, another moment, with Sherlock Holmes. _The_ Sherlock Holmes. How he craved just to have the title '_Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson_.' How he wished to say the words in the back of his mind to Sherlock, in person. But his chance is gone, if only he just realized these feelings sooner.

"John Watson!" A woman shouted from across the street, ripping John from his pool of thoughts. He did a double-take. The woman ran across the street, a few cars slamming the brakes and honking. She didn't seem to care at all, her face was lit up like a child at Disney Land for the first time, she jumped back a few times to not be hit by the cars, but the same expression still on plastered on her face, eyes still fixated on John. John was purely confused, he never met this woman before, but it made since if she knew his name, he was in every newspaper around the world. The headlines practically smacked their way into his mind, burning every part of his body. 'Suicide of a Fake Genius', 'Henchman left all alone', 'A great man, A great fall'. John shook his head, eyes watering again.

The mystery woman finally made her way to John's side of the street, panting, and her face lit up with the same expression Sherlock would wear when an exciting case would show up. In a way, she did kind of resemble Sherlock. This stabbed his heart from all directions possible, sister, cousin, or relative? His questions were building up at the tip of his tongue; he opened his mouth to-

The woman embraced John; she suddenly sobbing hugged him tighter. By passers looked at them in awe, as if they were just reuniting, a few just took a picture before continuing on. John lifted his hand, hesitating, before awkwardly patting her back in comfort. "There, there, whatever might be upsetting you will be fine…if you don't mind me asking, who are you?"

The mystery woman finally let go, eyes held a sullen look, and her face looked torn. This shocked John, just a moment ago she was lit up with excitement, and then suddenly she was falling apart before him. He didn't even know who this woman was. John was probably swimming in a pool of confusion by now. He almost felt the need to just leave the place and run off.

"My name is Emily Holmes, sister of Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. They told me extraordinary stories of you. But you look pretty plain. Anyways, my brother, Sherlock, knew he was going to die. So he came to me, I was let out of confinement from Mycroft recently because of reasons, and Mycroft told me that my brother died. You were with him though…so why did you let him do it? You could have stopped him, talked him out of it, anything!" By this point Emily was crying, and sniffling between her words. She burst out crying and fell to her knees, bringing her hands to her face, muffling the sounds.

John was helpless by this point, Sherlock's sister was crying at his knees, and she blamed his death on him, and everyone was looking at him as if he were the one making her cry, which wasn't fully a lie. Now this was trouble. He bent down and grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Emily." He said in a soothing voice, trying to calm the girl down so he could figure out more. Although, her words hurt him more than expected; she kept on crying, this was getting bad, and she is already causing a scene.

Mrs. Hudson, hearing the racket going out outside, opened the door and peeked out before opening the door wide opened, face plastered with a green mask, hair in curls, and in her nightie. Possibly taking advantage of not keeping up an appearance since the boys weren't around. She looked shocked and worried. "John, I thought you left about 15 minutes ago! Why are you still here? Why is this lady crying? For crying out loud, let her in already!" She came out and patted Emily's back, grabbing her arm and pulling her up gently, trying to calm her, before bringing her in. John just stood there, wondering what the hell just happened. He shrugged and picked up his bags, following Mrs. Hudson and Emily into the flat.

In a black car from across the street, Mycroft was watching the whole scene unfold. Seeing his little sister break down like that, caused him to go into instinct and almost leapt out of the car to go comfort her. Although, she never showed any care towards Sherlock, or himself, simply because she was drowned with studies, high expectations, and a future that was already planned out for her since the day she was born. She was always stressed, tired, and violent at times because of the sleep she has lost due to studies. When Julia and Robert weren't working and strict with their children's education, they would be out having a dinner of just the two of them, great parents huh? Mycroft blinked away the memories, so much time lost, and so many relationships broken.

But now, thanks to the death of his brother, he might be able to re-establish his family again, well…what is left of it anyways. Mycroft slowly closed his eyes; he was still not use to _not_ being around Sherlock, even after all these years. He opened them again, to see Irene Adler walking towards the flat. His mind jumped to conclusions of all the possible things that woman could do to his sister, John, and Mrs. Hudson. He yelled at his guards to prevent Irene into getting into the building. His men quickly flew out of the car and towards 221B. Mycroft watched as one of them grabbed Irene by the arm and wretched her away from the door. Two silver objects flew from her coat at the action, which were quickly identified as a gun and pocket knife; they quickly dragged her forcefully towards the car. She didn't struggle, which was odd. Usually, she would put up a fight, bite, claw, whip, slap, she would tear at anything that she could get her hands on, whether it would be a body part, or an object. She had a dead look on her face, but behind that face was something more. A secret, a plot, whatever it was, it intrigued Mycroft. Ah, this will be a fun night indeed. Torturing the information out of her was a change instead of her torturing others for fun.

What a fun day ahead of them indeed.

Sherlock will have to thank Irene for her assistance, getting caught by Mycroft, daring to plant weapons on her person by herself and walk to the flat, acting as if she was going to kill his friends. A brave woman indeed, well Sherlock sometimes took advantage of Irene's crush on him, but that was a different story. He truly did trust her and somewhat care for her as a colleague. "Thank you, Irene Adler." He breathed.

Irene looked out the window, and towards the location where she saw Sherlock, wearing a black over-sized hoodie, hearing the silent gratitude. She smiled softly. The car started up and drove off, leaving Sherlock alone.

As soon as the car was out of sight, Sherlock zipped up his hoodie and let himself into the flat, picking up shadows around the curtains, deducing that they were upstairs and not downstairs. When the door opened, a wave of relief and security wrapped itself around him, almost dragging him upstairs. But he knew he couldn't go back up, at least not yet. He couldn't let himself be known, he couldn't do anything. For there was no such thing as Sherlock Holmes, because he was supposedly 'dead'.

He looked up towards the stairs; suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the top of the stairs, John's voice could be heard saying he was going to get another blanket from downstairs. Time went in slow motion, as Sherlock's mind went into over-drive, with only a few seconds before John made his way to the second case, seeing Sherlock, Sherlock's cover blown, Irene's sacrifice a waste, headlines appearing all over the world, press outside, and John angrier than ever. He had to get out or at least hide. 7 seconds, before Sherlock would be in John's line of sight.

Sherlock turned on his heel as fast as he could, _one_, putting backing up a bit, preparing, _two_, thrusting forward towards the door, _three_, throwing his hand onto the door knob and clutching it, _four_, twisting it and forcing the door opened with a bang, _five_-.

"_Hey_**!**" John yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice laced with protectiveness. Sherlock didn't pause though, but he did flinch. He under-estimated John's speed and was a few seconds late, that, or he was getting soft. Sherlock flung his body out of the half opened door, tripping and tumbling along the way. Using his already blistered hands to push him-self off of the ground and sprinted forward, going anywhere but back. Oh, but how he longed and desired to go back, he bit his lip, eyes stinging. A ting in his chest appeared, and when it did, it caused Sherlock to freeze every time, it felt unusual and different. If he thought of going back, if he thought of John, Mrs. Hudson, the cases, Lestrade, and everyone else. If he just THOUGHT of them, it would cause it to worsen.

"Please wait, everyone, John, I'm sorry. Just, wait." And with those words, the tall, dark figure, disappeared into the shadows of the alley-ways.

"What was all that about?" Mrs. Hudson asked as John made his way up, blanket in hand. "Call the police, someone tried to break in." He said voice cold as stone. His face might as well have been stone itself. "I will talk to Emily before the police arrive, maybe you should dress into something more suitable and presentable, Mrs. Hudson." John said sternly. Mrs. Hudson jumped up, almost completely forgetting of her current appearance; she flustered and walked passed John, who was already texting Lestrade. As soon as he was done, he looked up and stared into the green/bluish grey eyes that were of Emily Holmes, they stared right back into his eyes, softening. They reminded him so much of Sherlock's eyes that he stepped closer. In a way, she did look like Sherlock; she was definitely almost as tall as Sherlock himself. Her hair was a deep dark brown, highlighted with red and yellow. Her skin was the same milky white as Sherlock's, she was well built, her eyes were wide, eyelashes long, and lips were pink and smooth-looking as Sherlock's. The one thing that drew him closer towards Emily was her voice. It was almost like Sherlock's but higher pitched and feminine than his, but she reminded him of Sherlock so much, he had forgotten whatever he was going to do.

"Knock, knock." said a voice for behind "Didn't mean to interrupt your romantic eye lock, just wanted to know more about the break in." John turned around, already figuring it was Lestrade. He looked momentarily back at Emily, who was flushed red to the tip of her ears; she ducked her head, clearly embarrassed. Also a bit embarrassed, John looked back at Lestrade who was looking back and forth from John to Emily, with an eyebrow raised and smirking. He nodded in approval before asking questions.

Emily looked up, eyes behind the bangs of her hair, eyes wide and glaring at John from behind. '_The man who killed your brother is John Watson. Get close to him, and bring him to me. I will reward you with the revenge of your parents, they wasted so much time for you to bond with your brothers, and they chose your own future. I wish I could get a live one, someone like you, someone who is passionate of their life._' The words echoed in her mind, she smirked before getting up, smiling angelic. She walked up slowly, resting a hand on John's shoulder, feeling it tense a bit before relaxing.

'_I will._' Was her reply; the contract was signed, and she was let out of confinement by grant. Miratory Greene is a false name that is painted over one of the worlds' best, real, villains.

_Jim Moriarty._

"So, tell me, what is that silly little plan of yours called? Irene Adler." The smoke of a burning car polluted the air, the car was black, turned over, and several bodies spilled out of the windows, limp and unmoving. One in the back was dressed in a gray suite, and an umbrella inches from his hand. Two bodies were leaving the scene, one being male, the other being female. One out cold, while the other dragging.

_**TBC**_

_**Review!**_


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